


Better Believe That Ominous Augury

by Calliope (Frostbite122)



Category: Crónica de una muerte anunciada | Chronicle of a Death Foretold - Gabriel García Márquez
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Murder, Prophetic Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27412090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostbite122/pseuds/Calliope
Summary: The day Santiago Nasar was killed, Hortensia Baute awoke from a dream that left her chilled and with the strangest ache in her abdomen.





	Better Believe That Ominous Augury

The day Santiago Nasar was killed, Hortensia Baute awoke from a dream that left her chilled and with the strangest ache in her abdomen. Vision tinged with the dark red of blood, its copper stench seeped into her mind, yells echoed from no distinguishable source--a sudden stabbing pain. When she pressed her hands to her stomach, she only felt a warm, squishy mass. As Hortensia Baute sat up, nightgown clinging to her skin, she knew that the dream could only mean one of two things; either her monthly cycle was about to start, or someone was going to die.

_That’s a bit dramatic_ , Hortensia Baute thought to herself with a huff. While she knew not to dismiss her own dreams, advice given to her by Plácida Linero, she couldn’t help but think that this one was just a product of stress. The preparations leading up to Angela Vicario’s wedding to Bayardo San Roman had certainly been a handful. “Literally,” Hortensia Baute grumbled. Arranging those delicate orange blossoms for the bride’s headdress was tedious, as she had to pause every few minutes to rub away the tingling sensation that would develop in her fingers. _It was like that damn thing didn’t want to be made_. Hortensia Baute slid out of bed with a sigh, shivered as her feet touched the cool wood of the floor, and moved towards the washroom.

The dream lingered in Hortensia Baute’s mind as she got dressed, and continued to do so as she moved out of her room, through the kitchen, and towards the front door. Early morning walks, often times well before the sun came up, had always been a secret enjoyment of hers, but the dream had sapped the action of it’s usual pleasure. “For the love of-- I swear It’s like I’m in a slaughterhouse and the pig just got gutted!,” she rubbed her her brow, annoyed. The smell of blood had refused to leave her, but Hortensia Baute tried her best to ignore it. She continued on her stroll through the village, and took in the smells of the wedding bash that still lingered; food, alcohol, sweat -- her nose wrinkled -- and noticed the other villagers that were out and about.

Hortensia Baute paused and stared as they scurried back and forth, talking amongst themselves with the strangest look of anticipation on their faces. _They all look like they're in on some big secret… or maybe that dream has made me paranoid…_ Hortensia Baute ignored the villagers as she continued on her path, but the longer she walked, the more she thought back on the dream that had woken her. The more she thought of that ominous dream, the more she began to hear that terrible yelling that seemed to get louder and louder. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Hortensia Baute clamped her hands over her ears, turned, and ran back home.

She ignored everything and everyone as she ran. Hysterically she thought, _Is this what going crazy feels like?!_ Hortensia Baute rounded the street corner, and the world seemed to blur around her. She flew by shops she couldn’t seem to recognize, the words _planning_ and _kill_ and _Santiago Nasar_ briefly reached her before Hortensia Baute pushed it away, focused only on the desire to reach home. She skidded around another corner, _There!_ She bolted up the steps, rushed through the door, and slammed it closed with a _Bang!_ She collapsed back against it, and slid to the floor. With her arms wrapped around her legs, head placed against her knees, Hortensia Baute attempted to catch her breath.

As she slowed her breathing, her thoughts began to clear. Hortensia Baute attempted to make sense of what she had heard. _Santiago Nasar… his name was mentioned...what else, what else…_ She bit her lip and pulled herself up off of the floor. _Something about a plan?_ Hortensia Baute closed her eyes and shifted through her thoughts. As she tried to remember what is was that she had heard, the smell of blood hit her again. Her eyes shot open, _blood… ‘someone was going to die,’_ Hortensia Baute gasped, “Someone’s going to kill Santiago Nasar!”

She stood, as stiff as a corpse, as that thought sank in. The red tinge had crept back into her sight, and she whipped around and reached for the door latch. Hortensia Baute swung open her front door, only to stop dead in her tracks. There, walking by, were Pablo and Pedro Vicario. And, to her horror, in their hands were two bloody knives, the dreadful sight illuminated by the street lamps. “They’ve killed him,” she whispered. She collapsed and landed on the steps, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “Why did I ignore the dream? Why did--” Hortensia Baute’s voice caught before she let out a heaving sob. “I-I could have done something. How could I have just--just dismissed that awful dream!” Tears streamed down her face, but before she could lose herself in her grief, she heard a shout and turned towards the noise.

Someone shouted, “They’ve killed Santiago Nasar!” Hortensia Baute stilled and heard, “Just now, gutted like a pig. They’ve killed Santiago Nasar!” She couldn’t understand, _hadn’t she just seen the Vicario twins with blood on their knives?_ Her stomach clenched and Hortensia Baute felt like she was about to be sick. She covered her face with her hands and groaned, “This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening. I know what I saw--” Hortensia Baute screamed, “that damned dream!”


End file.
